


Sonnets and Angel Cake

by hurlinkandwit



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale writes a sonnet, Crowley bakes a cake, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Queen (Band) Lyrics, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurlinkandwit/pseuds/hurlinkandwit
Summary: In which Crowley and Aziraphale are a romantic mess.--“You know what they say. Valentine’s Day was invented to make money off of cheap cards and guilty significant others.”Aziraphale hesitated, feeling his cheeks warm up.“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s a lovely idea.”“What’s so lovely about that?”The angel shook his head.“No, the idea of a day dedicated to love.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	Sonnets and Angel Cake

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment, he was thinking about how the next day was Valentine’s Day. The next, he was setting his pen down and staring at a finished poem he’d written, inspired by Shakespeare’s eighteenth sonnet.

It was like reading the bearings of his entire heart and soul; a heart and soul that had been pining since 1941.

Even longer than that, subconsciously.

He read his sonnet again. Doing so made him feel like he was drowning in his love for Crowley.

Aziraphale had always heard humans say that writing about feelings made you feel better, but what was the use of written words if they could not be read by the person they were written about?

Crowley would undoubtedly think it ridiculous if he ever read it.

Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t any good. He was sure he’d messed up the iambic pentameter.

“Perhaps I should throw it away,” Aziraphale muttered, reaching for his cocoa. He took a sip, focusing on the sweet, chocolatey taste. He had even put in a few marshmallows this evening.

He read his sonnet again as he finished his drink before he heard someone enter his bookshop. He froze, listening to the footsteps. His voice came out higher than usual.

“We’re closed!”

“It’s only me, angel.”

Oh, fu—

Aziraphale folded up the paper and stashed it into the pocket of his coat. He rummaged around his desk, trying to make it tidier and not as if he’d just been writing a love poem. He stood up, awkwardly leaning against the back of his chair as Crowley strode in. He was dressed in his usual dark clothing and his red hair looked a glorious mess. Aziraphale cleared his throat, his hand checking his pocket to make sure the sonnet was still there.

“Are you ready?” Crowley asked, gesturing toward the door. Aziraphale frowned.

“Ready for…” he trailed off, his mind a tangle of thoughts.

“Dinner. Do you still want sushi?”

Oh. Right. Dinner.

“Yes, of course. I was just…” He was just...what? “I was just tidying up. Sushi. Yes. Let’s go!”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, hoping he appeared normal. Crowley blinked once then gestured for Aziraphale to lead the way. Oh, no. His heart was not ready for this. It was too caught up in that stupid poem.

They went outside. He sunk into the passenger seat of the Bentley, staring straight ahead. He couldn’t even trust himself to look at Crowley. He felt stiff as the cover of a brand new book.

“Alright?” the demon asked as he got behind the wheel. The car started. A Queen song began to play.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, reminding himself to relax. But he didn’t feel like his normal self. It was all because of that stupid sonnet.

Why in the world had he written it? Now he just felt strange, like he was hiding something from Crowley. Yes, he had been hiding his feelings before he’d written the poem, but now it felt bigger. Something waiting to ruin everything.

_Ooh love, ooh loverboy_

_What're you doin' tonight?_

“What is this song called?” Aziraphale asked as they sped along.

“‘Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’.”

“I like it. It’s...nifty.”

Oh, goodness. Nifty? He had to get a grip on himself. He expected Crowley to laugh or adamantly explain why a song by Queen could never be described as ‘nifty’.

However, Crowley smiled.

“Nifty, huh?”

“Er, yes,” Aziraphale said.

There was no going back.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Crowley responded.

_When I’m not with you,_

_Think of me always_

_Love you, love you_

Crowley slammed on the brake, narrowly missing several pedestrians. This did not help to alleviate Aziraphale’s anxious state.

“Crowley!”

“Yes, angel?”

Crowley’s smile was much too smug. Aziraphale wanted to ki—

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

“Nothing,” the angel answered quickly. He clasped his hands together tightly.

_Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely_

_Just take me back to yours, that will be fine_

They arrived at the sushi restaurant after a few more Queen songs played. It wasn’t until Aziraphale and Crowley were both sitting at a table with drinks and sushi in front of them that Aziraphale felt calmer. He enjoyed the meal, savoring the flavors while Crowley contented himself with drinking and watching.

“I expect it will be crowded tomorrow,” the demon said.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked, mouth full.

“For Valentine’s Day. It’s good we came tonight. All of the restaurants will be crowded tomorrow.”

“Right,” Aziraphale replied, self-conscious about the love poem in his pocket once again. He should have ripped it to shreds. He should have thrown it away.

He shouldn’t have written it in the first place.

“Do you...have any plans for tomorrow?” Crowley said, his eyebrows raised over his shades. He was sprawled out across his chair; his usual posture.

“I’m not sure,” the angel said.

They listened to the sounds of the restaurant. Humans talked. Glasses clinked.

Crowley’s hand was lying across the table.

Aziraphale glanced at it. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“Stupid holiday, isn’t it?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale peered at him, wishing he could see Crowley’s eyes. It was so much easier to understand the meaning behind the demon’s words when he could see the emotion in them.

“Er, do you think so?”

Crowley shrugged as if he were too good for the idea of such a foolish human pastime.

“You know what they say. Valentine’s Day was invented to make money off of cheap cards and guilty significant others.”

Aziraphale hesitated, feeling his cheeks warm up.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s a lovely idea.”

“What’s so lovely about that?”

The angel shook his head.

“No, the idea of a day dedicated to love.”

He knew the legends behind it, but Aziraphale wondered which side the holiday had originated from—heaven or hell? Or, maybe it had come from the humans themselves.

“It does no good unless the humans are in relationships. Look at that bloke over there. Do you think he’s looking forward to tomorrow?”

Aziraphale glanced back at the man Crowley had nodded toward. He really did seem like he was having a rough day. He played with the food on his plate, his expression disappointed. Aziraphale sent happy thoughts his way, hoping it would cheer him up. When he turned back to Crowley, he could see a small smile playing at the demon’s lips.

“I think Valentine’s Day is about more than just romantic relationships. There are platonic and familial relationships to celebrate as well,” Aziraphale stated.

Crowley shrugged again. Aziraphale wanted to reach for the demon’s hand which was still lying across the table. Ever since the Armageddon-that-hadn’t-been, it had been even more tempting to reach out. To touch. After all, they were on their own side now. There was distance between them and the eyes of heaven and hell.

But that didn’t mean it was easier to put those kinds of thoughts into actions. He looked at Crowley.

“Home?” the demon asked.

\--

Another terrifying car ride later, Crowley walked Aziraphale up to his shop door. The angel was surprised when his offer of a nightcap was refused.

“I’m tired. I think I’ll go.”

Those infuriating shades. He almost reached up to take them off.

“Are you sure?” the angel asked. He didn’t want the night to end. He never liked when Crowley had to leave.

Crowley nodded slowly.

“I’ll see you later, angel.”

Before Aziraphale could say anything to make him stay, Crowley strode to his car and drove off. The angel watched the demon leave.

Had Aziraphale done something wrong?

Or, could it be…

No. It wasn’t that. The signs would have been there.

He went inside.

He made another cup of cocoa.

He read a book about architecture until it was three in the morning.

He sighed, looking around the shop. It needed a good cleaning but he wasn’t in the mood.

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

What would have happened if he hadn’t said those words?

He stared at the books in his backroom, reading their cracked spines.

What if…

What if he was being an idiot?

Why was he feeling this way? What was the source that had gotten him into a mad frenzy of writing some stupid sonnet? A human holiday.

Yes, this was rather silly. He and Crowley had managed happily as they were for millennia. What was the need for this melancholy? He had a best friend. If that was all it equated to, then he was a lucky being.

There was no use for his love poem. He decided he would throw it away.

Aziraphale reached into his pocket.

There was nothing there.

He reached into his other pocket.

Nothing.

Oh, no.

\--

Crowley was baking a cake.

If only his fellow demons could have seen him then—apron covering his clothes and a strange smile on his face. He hummed “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” to himself as he dumped flour into a bowl.

Alright. Yes. Aziraphale had made it clear during dinner that he wasn’t looking for more in their relationship. All the signs were there. Crowley had left his hand on the table for all of dinner, for Go- for Sa- for someone’s sake. Aziraphale had kept to himself, his body language indicating his lack of interest.

But it was Valentine’s Day and he wanted to make a fucking angel cake for the angel, even if Aziraphale would never be his angel.

Even if Valentine’s Day was stupid.

He had thought of the idea while driving home and gone up to his flat to miracle all of the objects and ingredients he would need.

The only problem was that he had never cooked before in all of his six thousand years on earth.

This did not stop him. He was sure he could handle measuring, reading the recipe he found online, and knowing which ingredients were which.

He was determined to make this angel cake better than anything he could have miracled into being.

\--

It was nearly five in the morning and Aziraphale, a righteous angel of heaven, was trying to break into a locked car parked on the street outside Crowley’s flat. But was it really so bad if you were best friends with the owner of the car and you had a very good reason? And that reason was that you had accidentally left a love poem inside? And you were doing it because you couldn’t put that strain on your friendship if he found it? And also you love him but—

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He couldn’t even miracle the door unlocked.

Crowley must have done something to make it that way.

Aziraphale had only said a certain word once before in his life. He decided to say it for the second time.

“Fuck,” he whispered, peering through the glass.

Yes, there it was. The folded paper lying on the passenger seat. He even tried to miracle the poem out of the car and into his palm, but nothing happened. It was impenetrable.

He peered up at the sky, blood pounding in his ears. So, that was it. He was doomed.

\--

Crowley wasn’t sure he had made the buttercream frosting correctly. It didn’t spread very well across the cake. But that was alright, wasn’t it? Perhaps it was even better that way.

He stared at his creation. The three layers of cake didn’t look like the picture on the blog.

His reflex was to miracle it to perfection. He hesitated.

No. He didn’t want to. He had worked hard. If it tasted awful, Aziraphale could tell him and Crowley would miracle it right.

What was that human saying? It’s the thought that counts?

Well, Aziraphale often agreed with those sayings, so perhaps it would be alright.

He miracled a dish out of thin air and placed the angel cake on it, arranging it as neatly as he could.

He marched out of the flat, cake in hand.

\--

Aziraphale gave up.

Armageddon hadn’t been the End Times.

This was the End Times.

\--

Crowley paused, looking across the street.

Aziraphale was leaning against the Bentley, his face held in his hand. The demon could do nothing but stare for a minute.

“Angel?” Crowley called. That got Aziraphale’s attention. Under the light of the nearby lampost, he seemed ready to run away. Crowley crossed the street.

“Why’re...what are you…”

He wasn’t sure which question to ask first. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I, er, I dropped something in your car. I was hoping I could...reclaim it.”

Crowley blinked several times. This was not what he had expected to happen. He shifted the dish in his hand.

“Oh, well, what is it?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, obviously pained at the question.

“A, um, a sonnet.”

“A sonnet?” Crowley repeated, intrigued.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other.

“One of Shakespeare’s?”

Aziraphale fidgeted.

“Not quite.”

It was strange. If it had been any copied poem, Aziraphale would have shared it with the demon; gone on and on about how lovely the writing was. And he wouldn’t have been there so early in the morning, desperate to have it back. Crowley gazed at him. Why did the angel look so tense?

He hesitated before he miracled the paper out of the car and into Aziraphale’s hand, wondering what on earth was written on it. Aziraphale’s expression smoothed.

“Thank you.” The angel took a deep breath, calming himself. “Why are you holding a cake?”

Ah. Yes. Crowley had forgotten for a moment.

“It’s for you.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, his expression changing into one of surprise. Crowley tried to focus on that look.

But the poem.

Whatever was on that paper...could it be…

No.

It couldn’t be, could it?

“I, um, happy Valentine’s Day, angel.”

Crowley shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. Aziraphale smiled.

“You said it was a pointless holiday.”

“I still think it is.”

What was the sonnet about?

“But you’re celebrating it,” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley shrugged again.

“Only because anything is worth...celebrating...if I’m with you.”

Oh, no. Had that been right? Aziraphale’s smile softened. They looked at each other.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. It seemed to happen in slow motion.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand take his free one. The angel hesitated then kissed the demon’s fingers softly. He lowered Crowley’s hand, still grasping it. His expression was worried but eager as he glanced up.

They gazed at each other.

For a long time.

They heard a few birds chirping nearby.

Distant cars grumbled.

The sky was lightening from pitch black to dark blue.

Crowley carefully set the angel cake on the Bentley’s bonnet. He took off his shades and laid them there as well.

He took a step forward, gazing into the angel’s eyes.

He waited for a sign; anything that told him to stop. He didn’t want to ruin this. He didn’t want to lose Aziraphale.

The angel’s eyes were darkened by the early morning.

And slowly, the demon met the angel’s lips with his own, holding on to the side of Aziraphale’s face with the hand that wasn’t being held.

Crowley felt the angel’s hand reach for his wrist, holding Crowley’s hand in place.

They broke apart, but Aziraphale did not step back. He fell into Crowley, wanting to feel the demon’s arms around him.

They stood like that for several seconds, their corporeal hearts beating out a unified rhythm of fear and longing. It was a while before either of them could say anything.

“That was…”

“Good,” Aziraphale finished, his breathing shallow.

Was this a dream?

Yes, it had to be. Crowley had gone home after dinner and fallen asleep. This couldn’t be his reality.

“You can read it, Crowley. I want you to.”

Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, scared.

So, Crowley accepted the offered paper. He unfolded it shakily, no longer embracing Aziraphale, but their hands remaining clasped together. This was the sonnet Aziraphale had written:

Shall I compare thee to a cocoa drink?

No, that won’t do for you are more sublime

Thou art much sweeter than all heaven thinks

And I’d rejoice in saying you are mine

The eye of hell is ignorant of how

A ‘sauntered’ angel could be oh so good.

Your shadowed glasses worn below the brow—

please, take them off. My dear, I wish you would.

Your honey eyes have stolen ‘way my heart

But I was clueless ‘til the crumbled church

My Crowley, thou are like a work of art

You cause my heart to ever, always lurch

So long as humans breathe and love and die,

So long love we, together, and defy.

Crowley didn’t know what to say.

He loved it.

How could he have been so clueless? If this was how Aziraphale had felt for years, how hadn’t he noticed it?

He felt Aziraphale’s hand shaking in his. He squeezed it.

“I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed with relief, bowing his head. Crowley tipped the angel’s chin up, wanting to look at those eyes forever.

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley drew the angel closer somehow, so close their noses were touching.

“But you know I’m not good. I’m not sweet.” Crowley paused, his voice husky. “I’m a demon.”

Aziraphale glanced at his lips and smiled.

“Whatever you say, my dear.”

And they fell into several kisses after that, whispering I-love-yous under the dim light of the lamppost.

\--

They went into Crowley’s flat.

And that was when Aziraphale saw the baking mess Crowley hadn’t bothered to clean up. There was flour all over the counter. A container of salt had spilled over.

“You...you baked that cake?” Aziraphale asked.

“Er, well, yeah.”

“Y-you baked me a cake,” the angel stated this time, his expression soft and surprised. He watched Crowley settle the angel cake on the counter.

Crowley shrugged. Aziraphale was surprised that he didn’t put on his shades again. They lay forgotten on the counter.

“Can I try it?”

Crowley hesitated then miracled a fork out of thin air.

“Tell me if it isn’t good. I can miracle it right.”

Aziraphale tried a bite.

It was much too salty.

Crowley waited, worry playing with his face.

“This is absolutely scrumptious,” Aziraphale said. He made himself take another bite. And another. He gave no sign that it was anything less than perfect.

Crowley grinned.

“Well…”

They met halfway again, making up for years of pining.

\--

And in the end, Crowley agreed that Valentine’s Day was indeed a much better holiday than he’d originally thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Valentine's Day. This is my first Good Omens fic and I really enjoyed writing it. Thank you for reading!


End file.
